Pour
by thir13enth
Summary: Gin loves his Porsche. Vermouth? Not so much. GinVermouth


**Some slight GinVermouth tensions. I know it's categorized as Romance...but I wouldn't quite call it a romance.**

* * *

><p>Gin loved his Porsche. Everything about it.<p>

Except that Vermouth was sitting shotgun in it right now. Something didn't belong there, and it was her.

Gin hated Vermouth. Everything about her.

Especially that she was "untouchable" as the Boss's favorite for no reason at all. Nothing he did could threaten her seriously, even if he meant it from the bottom of his cold heart. He insulted her; she dismissed it. He pushed her; she shoved back. He pointed a gun at her; she laughed.

That truly made life unfair. He, with the full intention of killing and completely capable of pulling a trigger, was unable to shoot. Now these days, his death threats were 'Good mornings' to her, and she barely blinked when faced with a gun barrel.

He heard a cough of disapproval to his left.

"It smells like cigarettes," she stated, but it might as well have been a complaint.

He did nothing. He didn't give a shit.

"And the interior of this car is horrible. Completely uncomfortable."

That did it.

"Get the fuck out."

Gin never expected to, but they couldn't even get along for _one _stakeout.

The slam of the car door indicated she was out of the car. She'd pay for the hard exit though, if his car ended up chipped in any way at all.

But now the bitch was leaning on his car from the outside, pressed up against the glass and blocking his view with the outline of her thong underneath her black pants and a clear view of her narrow waist.

She wore a red work shirt, rather thin material with a crisp collar and sleeves that went halfway down her arms. The gaps between the buttons were large enough for him to peek at the fair skin underneath—from the side mirror at least.

He heard the clank of her left high heel when she rested her foot on his car's body.

She knew this would offend him, and he hated that he couldn't do anything about it.

But she couldn't stay untouchable forever. And he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into her.

So he smirked when he saw the droplets of rain catch onto his windshield and locked the car doors.

Once Vermouth cared about the increasingly hard rain, she turned around but could not get into his Porsche for shelter. Only too unfortunate for her. When she realized that he wasn't going to let her in, she leaned once more against his car, making sure to prop her heel against the black paint once again.

And it poured.

He wasn't sure what kind of satisfaction he got from watching her get soaked in the weather because it honestly looked like she was enjoying it. His sadistic nature didn't approve, but there wasn't anything he could do. Letting her in would just make his car wet, and he'd have to sit through her annoying voice again. It was a smaller loss to have her stand out in the rain, he decided, and sat back more comfortable in his seat, listening to the raindrops echo on the metal exterior of his beloved Porsche.

At some point, she decided to release her hair, and her arms reached up to loosen the tie, a small sliver of stomach showing through the raise of her shirt, fully accentuating the curve of her hips and tight hug of water-soaked pants on her legs. She flicked her blond hair about, and it cascaded past her shoulders while she released a sigh of some sort, a cloud slipping from her full lips.

The rain kept coming, and her shirt stuck close to her skin, and still obnoxiously pressed against his car window. He could tell she was wearing a black bra, and that there were only two metal hooks holding her together.

Now the rain created a small waterfall on his windshield that he could enjoy from the inside of his car.

Vermouth, it seemed, couldn't take it anymore, though he couldn't imagine why not because she was completely soaked through; it shouldn't make a difference if she stayed out there longer.

She turned around to fully face him, front on, and he could quite readily tell that she was cold by a glance of her chest.

To get her head down to the level that she could see him from outside the window, Vermouth bent down, and he saw the valley down her shirt.

God damn it, he cursed, and tightened his hands around the steering wheel, biting his lip.

When he looked back the window, she had pleading eyes that begged to let her into the car, but he saw a smirk in the curve of her lips that knew what her feminine assets were doing to him.

He gave in.

"Alright, get in."

* * *

><p><strong>[insert bribe] if you review? :D<strong>

**thir13enth**


End file.
